Part of the Track
by Calapine
Summary: The Doctor, fixing little things.


A/N: Just something I scribbled this morning. My train was late . . .very late.   
  
Disclaimer: BBC owns Doctor Who. I'm a student with no money. Please don't sue.  
  
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Part of the Track  
  
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This is not the kind of train station that the Doctor likes. The painted walls peel, decaying with age and graffiti. A handful of uncomfortable ugly green benches sit by the single platform. The air smells of coffee and afternoon rain. A mother scolds a child splashing in a puddle. Someone's mobile phone begins to ring: polyphonic Mozart. The Doctor grimaces. As the next train is announced, the mass of people look expectantly up the track.  
  
The train is sleek, and shiny, and oh so modern. The charming steam trains chugging along at a relaxing pace belong to a time long past - their character replaced by expediency. Passengers struggle to board, and the platform is quieter, but still busy. Another train will arrive shortly.  
  
The Doctor twirls his umbrella round his wrist and looks wistfully at the station, remembering something entirely different from what he sees. He considers going inside, but doesn't think he'll like what has changed. A man glares at him as he swings the umbrella again. He returns the look with a polite smile and nod.  
  
Something hits him, knocking him to the side slightly, and dislodging his hat.  
  
"Oh, I'm so sorry," says the voice of a woman carrying too many boxes.  
  
"Quite alright," says the Doctor raising his hat, and then helping the woman collect the boxes that have fallen.   
  
"Thank you," she says with a faint smile. She looks like she isn't used to smiling. Lines are worn into her face, her eyes look tired. "Moving house," she explains. "Need all the boxes I can carry."   
  
"Are you catching the next train?" asks the Doctor.  
  
The woman nods her head, her eyes looking up the track. "Normally I wouldn't be home until six, but my daughter says she's ill, again."  
  
The Doctor fixes his eyes on her face, the look on his face serious. "Is she?"  
  
The woman shrugs, and then says, "she thinks so, but the doctor can't find anything wrong."  
  
"Maybe you should listen, this time." The woman looks at him, about to scoff, but is caught by the expression in his eyes. Their quiet, deep look catches her attention, and she feels a shiver of worry go through her.   
  
"I suppose . . . " she says, looking uncertain. It's not a cold day, but when she breathes the air feels like ice.   
  
"Would you like a coffee?" asks the Doctor, with a disarming smile as he looks towards the small outside booth selling hot beverages.  
  
She almost says yes, then remembers: "My train should be arriving any moment."  
  
"It'll be late," say the Doctor an instant before a voice on the loudspeaker confirms that the next train will be delayed for forty-five minutes. The woman looks at him, a slight frown appearing on her face, but she agrees to the coffee.  
  
It tastes terrible, but she doesn't care. The warmth is a comfort although it's far too bitter and there's not enough milk, never mind sugar.  
  
"Feeling better?" asks the Doctor and the woman nods. She's surprised when she realises his concern is genuine. "Looks like your train's arrived," he says, nodding towards the track. She turns around, realising that she hadn't been watching for it. She swallows the last of the coffee. Bitter.  
  
"Thank you," she says. The Doctor doffs his hat to her.  
  
"Don't forget about your daughter," he says. "As soon as you get home. Remember that." She holds his gaze for a moment, one foot still on the platform.  
  
"I will," she says, meaning it.  
  
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"Piece of cake, Professor," says Ace with a grin, her hair scraped back in a ponytail and a backpack slung over her shoulder. "Don't see why they couldn't do it themselves."  
  
"They didn't know what was wrong with the engine," says the Doctor looking down at the platform, scraping his umbrella along a crack in the paving. Rush hour is past, the passengers gone. The next train will not arrive for hours.  
  
"I thought you didn't like trains stations,"  
  
"Bus stations, Ace," he corrects.  
  
"What are we doing here, anyway? Apart from fixing trains."  
  
"Making time," replies the Doctor with a smile. "Because it always runs out too soon."  
  
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End 


End file.
